


Racing Across The Sand Dunes

by Hino



Category: Pyre (Video Game)
Genre: A fun little thing about people making the most of what they can, Gen, Not romance bc that's boring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 19:34:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14677970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hino/pseuds/Hino
Summary: The Reader is building something, and Hedwyn is interested.





	Racing Across The Sand Dunes

Maintaining good connections with both Ron’s Slugmarket, and Barker Ashpaws, was a crucial part of making a good life in the Downside. It meant that getting Commonwealth contraband was easier, and that sometimes, you had first dibs on the more interesting things that got flushed downriver.

This was the case when the Blackwagon pulled into Gluehive. Under request from the Reader themself, Volfred had permitted them all to roam the Downside as opposed to staying holed up in the Moonlit Alcove. It also meant that Falcon Ron moved around a lot more, and it was pure luck that they managed to find him in the area.

 

The Reader flagged them down with a grin, running over to greet the sales-creature while the rest of the Nightwings pitched camp, hoping deep in their hearts that the Reader would not invite Ron over for dinner or conversation. Instead, the Reader merely accepted a wrapped bundle of goods from Ron, slipping some Sol into his hand before darting back to the Blackwagon.

“What’ve you got there, friend?” Hedwyn asked, watching as the Reader placed their new toy on the porch of the Blackwagon. The Reader unwrapped it, showing a bunch of gleaming metal parts. Hedwyn studied them all curiously, while the Reader merely began to slot them all together. “Are you making something?”

There was a nod from the Reader, and they produced some blueprints from within their robe. With a few words, they had explained they were making a vehicle of sorts, and they would need to ask the Drive-Imps if they wished to help power it.

Hedwyn laughed. “I’m sure they would,” he replied, getting to his feet. “I’ll leave you to work on this. Will you tell me when it’s done? I’d love to see what you’ve made.”

A nod from the Reader was all Hedwyn needed, jumping off the back of the Blackwagon, for he had no love for the stairs, and heading over to join Jodariel and Rukey who were eagerly discussing whether the aesthetics of other Triumvirates robes surpassed their own, or if the blue of the Nightwings was in fact, the best Raiment to wear.

 

Over the next few days, as they rolled across the valley, the Reader kept their head down, constantly fussing with the parts Falcon Ron had gave them. Any conversations that the Exiles had tried to strike up with them had only fallen flat, with them not holding any interest with the mechanical explanations the Reader offered.

Only Tariq and Hedwyn were interested. The Minstrel found interest in learning something the previous Nightwings had never explained to him, and Hedwyn just enjoyed hearing the Reader talk so animatedly about something. They had been a quiet one, so just hearing them ramble was soothing, in a way.

 

The wagon had rolled past the Dissidents, and the Reader had screeched for the Blackwagon to stop, panicking the entirety of the Nightwings. They watched curiously as the Reader ran over to flag down Barker’s triumvirate, speaking quickly to the Cur. Rukey noticed that Barker was being reasonably diplomatic, and Volfred merely hummed, smoking his pipe as he watched the Reader shift from one leg to the other in pure joy.

As the Reader skipped back to the wagon, Rukey raised an eyebrow. “What you got there, chum?”

They unfolded the bundle they were holding, revealing what looked like a seat, as well as rubber strips, along with other assorted trash. The Cur looked at it with confusion, while Tariq merely smiled, which caught the few Nightwings who could see him off guard.

Slowly, the Reader explained what each part did, but soon they were in depth talking about the structural integrity of each piece, as well as the manner they had to go through in order to obtain them. The Nightwings, to their credit, did try to listen as much as they could, but once the Reader had gotten into the chemical structures of this particular piece of rubber, some of them had to bid farewell, less they fall asleep or say something unpleasant.

 

The Reader held no ill will towards the Exiles who left to attend to their own matters. They understood they could be eccentric with these things. The only few who remained were Tariq, Hedwyn, and Volfred, who now found an interest in the level of knowledge on display. With a shout of warning, the Blackwagon lurched forward, but the Reader was prepared, limbs already splayed out to stop any loose pieces from rolling away.

Nimble fingers began to slot all the pieces together, and they explained each step as they did it. It was a struggle to talk as fast as their hands were moving, but the Reader managed, and the three patient listeners had to commend them for it. Progress slowed once the Reader got onto the larger pieces, but as the sun fell and the wagon came to a halt for the night, the machine was practically complete.

They ate with everyone at dinner for the first time in days, spirit higher than even the Moontouched Girl’s own, which was a rarity. Even when mealtime was over, they continued to stay with the group, playing cards and singing songs. It was a welcome presence, and the Nightwings felt easy having their Reader so close again.

“Your machine! You’ve finished it, I think?” The Moontouched Girl asked as she set down a card onto the pile. A nod from the Reader made her grin and she bounced in her seat. “The Scribes, they tell me, this machine, it is new? Jomuer Many-Mane? He likes it? I think perhaps, he might envy it?”

Her words made the Reader laugh, and she laughed too, taking great joy in having entertained the Reader. Their laughs petered out, but their good moods persisted into the night, even after they all had retired to bed, The Stars did not light up the sky tonight and for once, the Reader was relieved. If they could have one more day to not think of the Rites, they would be grateful.

 

It had barely become morning when the Reader arose, excited and grinning. Hedwyn was awake too, if only to prepare breakfast, and he watched with curiosity as the Reader climbed up the ladder to the Centrifuge where the Drive-Imps sat. They spoke animatedly, and the Imps responded in turn, lured in by the idea that the Reader had proposed.

“It seems you’ve worked them up.” Hedwyn was smiling, having stepped out of the kitchen to see what was happening. The pan he was holding made it clear he was making some kind of pancake, and the Reader grinned. “What’s got them all fluttering?”

With words almost too fast for the Nomad to understand, the Reader explained that their machine was ready, and the Drive-Imps had agreed to power it. Hedwyn laughed softly, returning to the kitchen in order to make sure none of their food was going to burn or crawl off, before following the Reader outside.

They were already instructing Drive-Imps on how to operate the device, pointing at places on their little vehicle. They called it a “Quad Bike”, which Hedwyn had never heard of, but as the Drive-Imps got ready and the Reader climbed onto the seat, the Nomad found himself joining them.

 

Hedwyn had no words to explain how he felt. It was like the Blackwagon but faster, screeching across the sandhills without getting bogged down. They were moving as swiftly as a Cur, yet with the grace of a Harp. The Reader was hooting and hollering, and the Drive-Imps were screaming with glee as they pushed the machine onwards. The Blackwagon was a speck in the distance, and he could see his fellow Nightwings trying to investigate the source of the noises, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

It was extremely freeing to be on the Quad, and Hedwyn almost found himself relaxed when the Reader turned to face them, grinning. In some awkward manoeuvre, they slipped behind Hedwyn, forcing him to take control of the speeding mess of scrap. They were going fast enough to kill them both, making Hedwyn panic as he tried to steer. The Reader merely laughed at him as they swung past the Blackwagon, sending up a cloud of smoke. A cheer escaped from Rukey and the Moontouched Girl, and as Hedwyn cast his gaze backwards, he thought he saw Tariq grinning, but his visage was hidden behind the dust cloud soon enough.

“Reader, do you mind if we stop?” the Nomad asked as he narrowly avoided a pack of Curs that had wandered into their path. The Reader shrugged and leant forward, placing their hands over Hedwyn’s own and directing him back to the Blackwagon. They tapped the side of the Quad with their feet and the Nomad heard the Drive-Imps calming down, letting them roll to a stop just before the Nightwings. They all stared at the two, emotions indescribable.

“Reader,” began Tariq, waiting until Hedwyn had hopped off to speak. The Reader merely nodded, letting the Minstrel climb aboard. Jodariel simply sighed as they sped off, ushering the rest of the Exiles back into the wagon for breakfast.

Once they were back inside, Jodariel dared to smile. “Was it worth it?”

“Worth it?” Hedwyn asked, only just noticing his entire body was shaking with adrenaline. “Absolutely.”

 

“Will you do it again?”

“Absolutely not.”


End file.
